


From Almaty, With Love

by AuthorMAGrant



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mr. & Mrs. Smith Fusion, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, M/M, nothing but fluff here, spies spies everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 05:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13968144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorMAGrant/pseuds/AuthorMAGrant
Summary: The story I wrote (but didn't use) for The Hero and His Soldier Otayuri AU zine. Basically it's Mr. and Mrs. Smith, but with Yuri and Otabek, and will hopefully tide you over until you can read "Charade" in the actual zine.





	From Almaty, With Love

“You realize this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

The candlelight played over the golden fall of Yuri’s hair, casting him in an angelic light despite his sneer. “No, Beka, I had no idea.”

A year ago, that sharp tone would have left him reaching under his suit jacket for his pistol. Yuri’s tongue was capable of cutting glass, cutting freaking _diamonds_ if he wanted. When Otabek had first been given this mission, he’d lamented having to keep Yuri _alive_. He couldn’t count the number of briefings when he begged his superiors to let him shut that pretty mouth up permanently. They told him the time would come. It was here now.

Too bad the idiots had underestimated him. Underestimated Yuri. Underestimated the transformative magic of that shared madness in Barcelona.

“How long have you known?” Otabek asked, reaching past the glass of wine Yuri had poured to take a sip of water instead.

The sneer transformed to a faint smile at his paranoia. “Christmas.”

“When I met your grandpa?” He frowned and set down the glass. “I thought I hid it.”

Yuri chuckled. “He wasn’t my grandpa. He was one of my handlers. And the walls were _very_ thin.” Yuri switched from their normal Russian to Kazakh. His voice dropped to a husky murmur. “Yuriyim, don’t make me wait. It’s too good. I can’t say no. I love you—“

“Stop.” Otabek flushed from the memories of those nights and all the other things he’d also said.

Yuri shrugged and daintily ate a bite of his dessert. “I always knew you were too romantic to go through with it.”

“Oh?”

A pale eyebrow rose. “You were supposed to kill me on New Year’s. Instead you begged off for Valentine’s Day. They clearly suspect your intentions about following through, since we’re surrounded.”

Otabek sighed and adjusted the napkin in his lap, which hid his pistol. “Was a quiet dinner too much to ask?” He lifted his glass once more to recheck the reflection on its surface. “I’ve got the six behind me.”

“I’ll take the four near the window. And watch the guy at the table. You always pull to the right from this close a distance.” Yuri leaned in a little closer, eyes serious. “When did you make me?”

Otabek reached across the space to wipe his thumb over Yuri’s bottom lip, removing the stray smudge of berry compote. “You made a vanilla cake for my birthday.”

“You’re allergic to chocolate,” Yuri grumbled, cheeks faintly flushed. He dropped his fork and bent down to retrieve it.

“I know.” Otabek drew back. He was still smiling when Yuri came back up with his own pistol from his ankle holster. “Only a man in love would pass up such an opportunity. Ready?”

Gunfire broke the peaceful silence of the nearly empty restaurant. Their enemies fell with little fanfare; the black ops team couldn’t risk drawing attention by wearing body armor, so headshots weren’t necessary.

Yuri led the way from the dining room toward the kitchen, giving Otabek a chance to reload. He cleared another employee door and asked, “So, you aren’t really a concert promoter?”

“No. DJ,” Otabek corrected.

Yuri gave a low whistle. “Sexy.”

He ignored that, although it caused a flutter behind his ribs. He took the lead into the kitchen. “What about you?”

“I have no idea how to hack,” Yuri admitted sheepishly, his shoulders brushing Otabek’s as they worked through the cluttered space. “It just sounded cool.”

“But I’ve watched you working—“

“I press a lot of keys really fast. My screen’s a clone of some Thai genius back at the agency.”

Otabek’s mouth fell open and he nearly missed the armed man popping up from behind the soup station.

Yuri shot first. “Don’t look at me like that. You wanted honesty ...”

“It’s like I don’t even know you.”

Yuri jerked and his expression was a mixture of resignation, amusement, and something dangerously close to regret. “That’s probably a good thing.”

“I want to know _you_.”

They pushed out the service door into the alley behind the restaurant and immediately ducked for cover after they turned the corner and faced a barrage.

“Quite the welcome committee,” Yuri snarked.

“Not as bad as Barcelona.”

“We _did_ survive that.”

“Exactly.” He accepted Yuri’s proffered gun and tried to mentally map out their escape. There were only seven more men waiting at the opposite end of the alley. Between super spies like him and Yuri, taking these new attackers down wouldn’t be an issue. The real challenge would be getting back to one of his bolt holes and collecting what they’d need to make a clean escape out of the country ...

“Otabek. Hey, Otabek!”

“Huh?”

“Got an extra clip?”

“Right pocket,” Otabek said, throwing a quick look around the corner of the building. The rounds impacting the wall sent up a spray of brick dust and he swore as he hid from view again.

Then he realized what he’d said.

“Wait!”

It was too late. Yuri had already reached into his pocket. Yuri’s fingers had already closed around the box. He could tell from the sudden tension in the Russian’s hand and arm, his low exhalation, the widening of his pale eyes.

“Beka?” he asked, voice trembling.

“Shit.”

Another spray of bullets thundering into the wall. They’d have to reload soon.

Yuri crouched beside him, staring at the small box in his hand. Otabek reached and undid the clasp, flipping open the top, revealing the micro-card inside.

“Yuri whatever-the-hell-your-real-name-is, would you like to disappear with me?”

For a second, he was sure Yuri would shoot him rather than answer his question. Then, the blond snapped the box shut, tucked it into his own pocket, and grabbed Otabek by the collar, dragging him in for a searing, joyful kiss which rang with the same turbulent need they felt that first time in Barcelona.

They separated, smiled, and rounded the corner to enter their future—an honest future, this time—together.


End file.
